


A Long Night’s Conversation Regarding Long Ago

by wneleh



Series: The Summer of 1999 (In which I try to get the guys past the events of TSbyBS happy, sane, and healthy) [2]
Category: Stargate SG-1, The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:49:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wneleh/pseuds/wneleh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My go at a common trope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Long Night’s Conversation Regarding Long Ago

**Author's Note:**

> Since this takes place during and just after TsbyBS, by my calculations that lands us right at the end of season 2 of SG1.
> 
> My goal here was to see if I could get Jack and Blair to connect. Most Sentinel/SG-1 crossovers I've read start with Blair and Daniel being pals, but I think they'd really despise each other, at least initially.
> 
> Of all the characters, I had the most trouble getting Daniel’s voice right, so I don’t have him do too much L. Which is strange, because I think that, of the four of them, I feel the most similar to Daniel.

May, 1999, beneath Cheyenne Mountain (Colorado)

"This just in… another bizarre turn in the case of the Superman of Cascade, Detective James Ellison. Two members of the Major Crimes unit of the Cascade Police Department lie in critical condition this evening after being struck at their desks by a sniper’s bullet. The alleged gunman is still at large. We’ll keep you updated on this ever more bizarre story as it unfolds. Back to you, Phil."

"Well, I guess this proves Ellison really don’t have enhanced senses – he should have seen this one coming!" said Phil, his joviality a contrast to the grave intonation used by his young, blond woman co-anchor. Together, their image disappeared from the screen as Colonel Jack O’Niell, USAF, clicked off the set with a curse.

His second-in-command, Major Samantha Carter, made a grab for the remote control. "I was watching that!" she said. "I thought you were interested in this story."

"Yeah, but not from those bozos."

The other two members of his team, Daniel Jackson the multiply-doctored, and a tall, dark-skinned man who might have been mistaken for a former football player – say, a defensive safety – if it weren’t for the emblem on his forehead which looked as if it had been formed in place from pure gold, glanced up from a game that resembled, but was not quite, chess.

"You’re interested in those guys? The media’s making them sound like a bunch of Keystones," said Daniel.

"‘Keystone Cop’ isn’t an image that springs to mind when I think of Jim Ellison," said Jack.

Teal’c nodded. "I surmise you have served with Detective James Ellison."

"No, not exactly – I was part of the team that extracted him from Peru back in ’89"

"What were you doing in Peru, sir?" asked Sam.

"You’re looking at the U.S. military establishment’s Quechua expert." At the incredulous expressions gracing Sam and Daniel’s faces, he continued, "You know – Quechua? Come on, Daniel, this is right up your alley."

Daniel’s face assumed a smirk that did not, quite, reach his eyes. "He thinks I’m the Professor, Sam. You want to be Ginger or Mary Anne?"

Jack shrugged and continued. "Sad as it may be, after that helicopter crash I was pretty much Uncle Sam’s expert on the language of the Chopec, the tribe Ellison mobilized. Learned it at the knee of my grandma O’Neill."

"Your grandma O’Neill was Chopec?" asked Daniel.

"No, but her bridge partner was. I’d sit at her knee and absorb Chopec curses along with my milquetoast. When I was applying to the Academy, I listed Quechua as a language I spoke, basically to be a smart ass since I’d only lasted a year each in Spanish and French. Somehow, that bit of trivia made it into a computer, and when they were looking for people to bring our hero there out of the jungle, I got pulled in."

"Does Caption Ellison indeed possess extraordinary sensory abilities?" asked Teal’c.

"Well, that’s the darnedest thing," said Jack. "There was something odd about him then, and later when we met again. But… have any of ever known someone who was losing their memories? Like with Alzheimer’s? I spent a couple of days with him in the village he’d been living in. He was clearly a part of their community, much like Daniel was on Abydos."

"Jack, I still am a part of their community."

"Exactly. In those couple of days, I saw him at work, at rest, I saw the respect with which he was held. When we got back to the base, though, he seemed to remember everything I’d told him about me, and about the world at large, but he couldn’t remember things about where he’d been living. Things that even I’d observed, like whether they had wells or used springs and streams, and how much large game they ate and whether they used bows or spears primarily in hunting. He remembered a bit more, a bit longer, about the counter-insurgency activities he’d coordinated, but after a week he couldn’t tell anyone anything useful about that, either. I got called back in to try to figure out whether he was being purposefully obfuscatory, but that didn’t seem to be the case. He’d just forgotten. It’s not that unusual a response to trauma, and that’s what it got written off as. But he hadn’t seemed that traumatized in the field.

"Observing him in Peru, I picked up that he was an extraordinarily good tracker, and he seemed to see and hear things before anyone else. In fact, I reported this to his superiors. When I talked to him about this later, well, he seemed to have no idea what I was talking about."

"So he denied them," said Teal’c.

"More like he couldn’t get his mind around what I was trying to say," said Jack.

"And so this anthropology student gets a hold of him somehow and does – what?" asked Sam.

Daniel laughed. "It seems like the student spent what should have been some of the most productive years of his life following the cop around, convincing himself he was walking in Richard Burton’s footsteps. Though I guess this is what they do in anthropology sometimes."

"Don’t you have a degree in anthropology?" asked Jack.

"For the millionth time – I got an M.S. in archeology, then switched to ancient languages and got a Ph.D. But, I had a side-project going, and when I couldn’t land a post-doc in ancient Egyptian and Greek studies I slipped back into the archeology department and wrote up the side-project for a second Ph.D. so that I could keep eating."

"Did this improve your employment prospects?" asked Teal’c.

"Well, I proceeded to get myself drummed out of my field. Theoretically, though, yes."

"So you feel some empathy with Blair Sandburg?" asked Teal’c.

"No."

"Well, if the kid is right, despite what he said a few hours ago, Ellison might make an excellent addition to the SGC. Particularly if all this fuss makes him want another line of work," said Jack.

"You’d want to work with him, despite what you say he went through after being in Peru?" asked Sam.

Jack laughed. "Oh, yes."

\- - - - - - - -

Cascade, Washington

Two weeks later

"Jim, you wouldn’t BELIEVE what happened at work today!"

Jim couldn’t help but smile. In the week since his roommate had landed a job at the local natural food store as a way of making a little money until the police academy’s next session began, the change in Blair had been extraordinary. Blair had always been driven by enthusiasms, and Jim alternated between being pleased and frustrated at being the object of Blair’s most intense enthusiasm, the search for, and development of, a Sentinel. Over the past year, Blair had only seemed happy, though, when he was immersed in the more interesting – and risky – aspects of police work. When not actively involved in a case, he’d been moody, and Jim feared he’d become addicted to adrenaline. Working at Wild America, of all places, though, also seemed to offer challenges to his friend. Sandburg the Grocer – who’d have thunk it?

"Did you get another promotion?" he asked.

"That’s one way of putting it. I talked to Wild America’s lead buyer today for over an hour when he came by the store, and he wants me to travel to Southeast Asia with him next week."

Jim tried to keep his expression neutral. "That seems like a pretty big investment in you."

"Man, this is private industry! They’ve got money, and they, like, comprehend the concept of people changing jobs. They want me to go to Java because I’ve been there a couple times before, and they’d like my perspective. Plus, they want me to introduce them to some of the fruits that we just don’t ever see here in the states."

"Fruits."

"Like you would NOT believe. Say, would you like to come along? You won’t be cleared to work for a few more weeks, will you?"

Jim shrugged. "Let’s talk about it later. We’ve got guests – entering the elevator right now, actually."

"Really? Anyone I know?"

"No… and I have no idea why they’re coming, but I suspect they didn’t buy your cover story."

"Oh, man, it’s Feds, right? We’re about to be descended on by Feds. What are we going to do about it?"

"Offer them a beer," said Jim, as he headed to the loft’s entrance, waited for the knock, then swung open the door.

Jack O’Neill looked 10 years older than the last time they’d met. ‘Losing a son will do that, I suppose’, thought Jim, as he embraced the older man. Still, there was vitality to Jack that had been wholly missing during their last encounter.

"My associate, Dr. Daniel Jackson," said Jack, stepping aside to let a younger, slightly disheveled-looking man into the loft.

"Blair Sandburg," said Blair, stepping forward and shaking Jack and Daniel’s hands. "What’s your degree in?"

"Linguistics and then Archeology, University of Chicago," said Daniel. "Mostly concentrated on ancient Egypt."

"Chicago! Really! I got in there for undergrad, but Cascade offered me a free ride since I was a local kid. Stayed there until about, oh, 14 days ago – but I guess you know about that, right?"

"Oh, we sure do," said Jack. "Actually, though, as you might have guessed, this whole Superman of Cascade thing is pretty much what brought us here. I’ll be blunt – Jim, I don’t know that I buy the ‘superman’ bit, but from what I saw in Peru, you’re clearly well beyond normal. Blair, if you’d excuse us, Daniel and I would like to talk to Jim for a while about a classified project of vital importance to the United States. If you’d like, we can go out, or…"

"Whatever you want to tell me, Blair can hear," said Jim.

Jack sighed. "Hey, I don’t make up the rules. But we can talk a bit before I have to get specific."

"If you knew Jim in Peru, there is no friggin’ way I’m letting you go!" said Blair as he distributed beers and the men found seats in the loft’s spacious living room. "Like I told the whole world, I lied about Jim being anything special, so you’re wasting your time trying to recruit the Superman of Cascade, or whatever. But I’d love to hear about the Chopec. Jim – ah – doesn’t talk about it much."

"Because I remember virtually nothing. Relax, Blair, Jack got to experience my amnesia first-hand."

"So what was he like? Was he integrated into the tribe? How much of his energies were devoted to the counter-insurgency activities? How large was his living unit? Were their segments of the population he primarily interacted with, or did he live mostly solo?"

Jack put his hands up. "Whoa! Maybe you should give me a written list, I’ll have my people write something up for you!"

Jim couldn’t tell whether the chagrined expression on Blair’s face was real or feigned. "Sorry, man," said Blair, "it’s just that I’ve been hanging out with Jim here for four years, and there’s a tremendous amount that’s just a black hole. It’s like studying Egyptian, or something, without knowing where Egypt is."

"Well," said Jack, "remember that I was only there a couple of days, and mostly we were trying to debrief Jim and the Chopec and build some bridges between the tribe and the Peruvian military. But, I can tell you that Jim seemed pretty well integrated." He looked at Jim, who nodded, so Jack continued. "I took it that Jack spent much of his time on patrol, and that the mini-army he mobilized served in payment for this patrol."

"Did he patrol alone, or with someone? Do you remember a shaman named Incacha?"

"Incacha I remember," said Jack, "but I don’t know whether he and Jim worked together."

"Did Jim participate in hunting?"

"Only peripherally," said Jack. "Or that was my impression, at least."

"What about social structures?"

"You mean, did he have a girl friend? None that I could determine, but again things were pretty chaotic. Jim didn’t seem anything but relieved to get out of there."

"Hah, that I do remember," said Jim.

"Wow – this is so great!" said Blair. "Jim – is anything coming back to you?"

"No, still a fog," said Jim.

Daniel spoke up. "Do you know why you have no clear memories of that time?"

"The shrinks said stress," said Jim. "Can’t say as I could argue with them."

Jack turned to Blair. "Do you buy that?"

Blair, who had been almost bouncing in his seat, got very still. "I don’t know what else it could be."

"Blair – I told Jim’s superiors that I’d seen signs of extraordinary vision and hearing, but when he was tested I was told that he was about average-good. Do you know why the change?"

"Jim didn’t have any extraordinary abilities – not then, not now," said Blair.

"And you know that how?" Jack turned to Jim. "I saw you find my name badge in leaves a hundred yards away. You heard our backup chopper 15 minutes before anyone else did. I know you heard everything we said about you – you didn’t even bother to try to hide it the first day we were there.

"Jim, get real. We all know there was something up with you, that went away maybe, but that has been working for you here, too. There’s no sense lying about it, to us at least."

"No," said Blair. "He’s just a good cop. He was a good soldier, highly adaptable, and now he’s a good cop."

Jim sighed. "Blair, give up."

Blair’s eyes now blazed like a cornered animal’s. "Jim, he’s seen nothing unexplainable. You’re good at your job, you’ve got great eyesight and vision. That’s it!"

"Blair…"

"Jim, please." Blair’s shoulders slumped. "Give me one good reason we can trust him."

Jack reached across the coffee table and gripped Blair’s shoulder quickly, tightly. "Because Peru isn't the only place I've seen Jim Ellison in action."

"Sir…" said Jim, and Blair’s and Daniel’s heads both snapped to stare at him.

"Jack," began Jim again, "You don’t have to explain anything more."

"Yes, he does," said Blair, turning back to Jack. "Why should we trust you? We’ve both given a lot up to try to squelch all of this, so that Jim can live a normal life. And, we’ve had some dealings with the government I, for one, would not like to repeat."

Jack sighed. "Once upon a time, there was a fighter pilot who couldn’t fly as well as he thought he could. During recon over Iraq just before our little war there really got going - I managed to get shot down and captured. It was bad. I spent six weeks in a dry pit. Well, when I wasn’t trying to convince Saddam’s finest that I knew stuff I didn’t know, since they wouldn’t believe that I didn’t know anything… Anyway, I managed to keep this army kid stuck down there with me alive for most of that time. Then, he died and I lost my friggin’ mind for a bit. Then Jim here dropped in."

All four men were silent for a moment. Blair spoke first. "Jim, what were you doing in Desert Storm? Weren’t you in the PD already by then?"

"I was with the department two weeks when I got the call to come back. Seemed like someone had told the brass that I’d be great at search and rescue." He and Jack exchanged nods.

"When Jack disappeared, I was dispatched covertly to see what I could find. I – I don’t remember much about what happened. There were four of us at first, but the other three guys peeled off somehow. I entered his camp solo, that much I know. Smelled him, even over every other stench there, without any effort, and I could hear the hole was only 10 feet deep or so, so I jumped down."

"And I tried to rip your throat out," said Jack, staring at his beer. "Tell the rest."

"You were justifiably a bit spooked, sir," said Jim. He turned to Blair and Daniel. "Trouble was, we needed to get moving. With what I had with me, climbing out of the hole wasn’t going to be a problem, but I needed Jack’s cooperation. I tried yelling, then pleading, then slugging him. Nothing worked. So… I tried singing."

"Singing?" asked Daniel. "Singing what?"

Jim shook his head. "It was in Quechua…"

"Yau kuntur llaqtay orgopy tiyaq," sang Jack. "Or something like that. I won’t butcher the pronunciation any more. It’s from ‘The Bird Passes,’ an old Incan song. The English translation is ‘Oh mighty condor who owns the skies, take me home, up into the Andes

Oh mighty condor. I want go back to my native place to be with my Inca brothers,

that's what I miss the most, Oh mighty Condor…" Jack looked up and turned to the others. "That’s the best I can do."

"It was a song I’d remembered from my time with the Chopec," said Jim. "It just came to me, and I remember you saying you’d learned Quechua as a child."

"It was brilliant."

"It worked," said Jim.

"So… after I stopped crying like a baby, we got out of that hell-hole," said Jack. He turned to Blair. "So, you gotta believe, I would never hurt this guy."

Blair nodded. "Yeah, I gather that," he said.

"So," said Jim, breaking the mood. "What brings you here today? What’s the job? Not, I gather, more search and rescue in the desert."

"No."

"Then what?"

"Jim – Daniel and I are part of a team doing some very interesting work, in places where traditional surveillance equipment – well, electronics in general – aren’t always reliable, let’s say. Unfortunately, we can’t tell you more."

Jim nodded. "So, Blair and I would be doing – what? Long-distance surveillance?"

"Actually," said Daniel, "Just you."

"We’re a team. Hell, you’d probably be better off just recruiting Blair, he’s actually looking for a job."

"Hey, I’m about to become a buyer!" said Blair.

"The work we do – it’s pretty dangerous, and requires a military background," said Jack.

Blair turned to Daniel. "And of course the University of Chicago’s known for its paramilitary training program."

"Daniel’s an exception, he’s learning on the job."

Jack saw Jim and Blair look at each other for a long moment. Finally, Jim turned to him. "No."

Daniel’s eyes were equally intense. "A lot – more than you can ever imagine – depends on us having the very best people on this project."

"No," Jim repeated. "This Sentinel thing – it needs Blair to work. I agree, Blair would need a lot of training before he did anything in the field, but he could do whatever any of us could. But he’d have to want to. And it would take time."

"So – say we were willing to expand the offer a bit?" asked Jack.

"I don’t think we are ready to leave Cascade. Are we, Chief?"

"Certainly not on the basis of what you’ve told us."

Daniel nodded. "Blair – maybe you could come out and visit Colorado Springs sometime? People are a bit less judgmental than on the coasts, and you might find out that you’ve done enough original research to get your degree through the University of Colorado system."

Jim smiled and relaxed a bit. So at least one of their guests, it seemed, had finally figured out they were offering the worm to the wrong fish. Blair just shook his head, though, and said, "we’ll see."

Jack shrugged. "Anyway, that’s it for the job pitch. How’s about we take you guys out for some seafood? We don’t get much of it in Colorado Springs."

\- - - - - - -

"Well, that went well," said Daniel as they reboarded the Air Force transport plane.

"Actually, it did," said Jack.

"You’d never told anyone about Iraq, had you?"

"No. And no, I don’t feel any better."

"Right. So, you think we’ll hear from them again."

"Maybe eventually. And that’s a step ahead of never, right?"

**Author's Note:**

> Bits of Quechua and translation (altered slighted to fit Jack’s cadence) are from http://www.andes.org/songs.html, "CULTURES OF THE ANDES."


End file.
